The garage!
Harry knew that Quinley must be going there. The man had said something about the car. This was vitally important.
Springing across the driveway, Harry hid behind a bush just as Quinley emerged from the house. The bearded man went to the garage, opened the sliding door, and entered. A light appeared through the opening; then the door was shut.
In that brief glimpse, Harry had seen that the front of the car was toward the door of the garage. The place was large enough to accommodate two cars, and there was a large space in front of the garage, where Quinley evidently reversed his car. But there were no windows in the doors, and Harry could see that the shades were drawn on the side windows of the garage. Quinley had effectively blocked off all view from outside.
What was taking place within? Harry was determined to find out.
HE crept up to the door and slowly moved it. Well-greased and free of motion, the door slid imperceptibly under Harry’s touch. It enabled The Shadow’s agent to peer within.
Harry could see no sign of Quinley.
This was because the car was close to the wall at the spot where Harry stood; and Quinley was evidently in the open space designed for a second car. There were two sliding doors, and the one which Harry was operating was outside the other.
Boldly, Harry wedged the opening until he was able to squeeze his body through. He began to close the door; then stopped and dropped beside the car. Harry could hear the man Quinley at work.
The man was operating something at the rear of the car. Creeping past the front, Harry peered along the fenders. He was astonished at what he saw.
Vernon Quinley was lifting the rear portion of the top. It formed a special compartment above the back seat.
From this space, Quinley removed a strange device. It consisted of a long barrel, with a mechanism at one end — a strange and unfamiliar type of gun. With it, Quinley held a peculiar box that had dials like those on a radio set. The man took out these objects by standing on the bumperette; and he carried each one to a table on the other side of the garage.
Drawing out what appeared to be a molding of the table, Quinley reached in a drawer and produced a long, flat box. He opened it carefully, and Harry could see that it was divided into a dozen compartments, like an egg crate. In all but three of these sections were glistening spheres that looked like tiny globes from a Christmas tree.
Quinley closed the box and laid it on the table. He turned toward the car and stopped short. By merest chance, the man had noted that the garage door was partly open.
His nervous eyes suddenly spotted Harry Vincent’s head beside the front fender of the car. A gasp came from Vernon Quinley. It was the signal for Harry to act.
SPRINGING to his feet, Harry drew an automatic from his pocket, and leaped into view. He covered Quinley with the gun. The man’s hands went up, and his face whitened; Quinley showed marked signs of cowardice. Harry had him cornered.
“What’s the game, eh?” demanded Harry.
Vernon Quinley stared pitifully toward The Shadow’s agent. In his trepidation, the bearded man mistook the intruder for a detective. Harry Vincent, a man of athletic build, looked ready for business. Quinley shrank away.
“What’s the game?” repeated Harry, sensing the man’s fear. “What are you trying to get away with?”
“Nothing,” responded Quinley, in a weak, stammering tone. “Nothing — nothing at all.”
Harry grunted his disbelief. He stalked forward and reached the table in the corner of the garage, while Quinley watched him with the eyes of a captured rat.
Without ceasing his vigilance, Harry managed to note the objects on the table. In an instant, he understood the purpose of the mechanism and the glimmering spheres within the flat box. A glance toward the rear of the sedan told him.
The long-barreled device was a special gun for shooting the glazed projectiles! An artfully made trap — now plain because the double top of the car was open — would allow the strange bullets to emerge! This was the device; these were the missiles that had brought death to three persons aboard the Suburban trains!
The moment that the thought occurred to him, Harry Vincent formed a plan. He had been forced to act quickly. His only course was to hold Quinley helpless until The Shadow might arrive.
Harry was here to watch Quinley, not to capture him; but the man did not know that fact. Therefore, the best policy was to bluff Quinley, and stall him with a quiz.
“So you’re the fellow who is in back of it!” stated Harry gruffly. “Killed off three people, eh? Ammunition enough for a lot more. Come clean, before I drag you out of here! What was the idea?”
To Harry’s surprise, Quinley seemed to welcome the interrogation. In a nervous voice, the man began a vague reply. Harry stopped him short with a motion of the automatic. Quinley’s ratlike eyes shifted nervously.
“I want your story,” demanded Harry.
“I— I did it,” admitted Quinley, in a low voice. “That’s the way I— I killed them.”
“Go on.”
“I— I always parked my car in the same place,” confessed Quinley. “The box — with the dials. It’s a special mechanism set to respond to heavy vibration. I— I—when I parked near the station to take the train, the rest was automatic. When the train pulled in, the vibration from the tracks threw the mechanism.”
“Lucky for you it didn’t go off while you were in the car.”
“It couldn’t. It’s fixed — I had it hooked up with the ignition switch. It wouldn’t work until — until the motor was stopped. I turned the key, and that set it.”
“What’s in those glass pellets?” queried Harry, nudging his free thumb toward the box.
“I don’t know,” pleaded Quinley. “They aren’t glass. They’re a special compound that goes to atoms when they strike. Loaded with poison, they are. I’m not — not responsible for this. I couldn’t help it — I was trying to obey orders.”
“Orders from whom?”
Harry’s voice was stern. Vernon Quinley, caught, was a pitiful creature. He seemed incapable of resisting the questions that were put to him. The evidence was all against him.
“I— I made a mistake,” he admitted. “A mistake that would have made trouble for me. A certain man discovered it. He threatened me — first with exposure; then with death — unless—”
“Unless you committed these crimes?”
“Yes.”
“Go on,” said Harry, in a quiet tone.
The order had a psychological effect upon Vernon Quinley. It indicated that Harry Vincent might be lenient. The man with the Vandyke started to reveal a vital fact.
“It was Thade,” he declared, in an awed whisper. “Thade, who calls himself The Death Giver. He had me brought to his den. He frightened me with his threats. He showed me—”
A strange effect came over Vernon Quinley. The man shrank back against the side of the sedan. He closed his eyes, and clawed frantically in the air. When he spoke again, his voice was a hoarse scream.
“I can’t tell!” he exclaimed. “Thade — Thade will kill me. Thade is The Death Giver! He sees everywhere! I have told too much already!”
The man had lost all control. Harry Vincent sensed a pressing danger. If Quinley’s voice became louder, it would be heard outside the garage. People would enter here, and Harry’s position would be as embarrassing as that of Vernon Quinley.
With his automatic leveled toward the man at the car, Harry circled away from the table until he neared the door of the garage. To close that door necessitated either a shift of the gun to his left hand or a careful turn of his body with the automatic pointing over his left shoulder.
Harry chose the latter course.
WITH gun aimed alongside the car, he reached with his left hand to close the garage door. Before his fingers began their pressure, Harry heard a gloating cry from Quinley. The man’s frenzied glare had become a cunning, fiendish look. As Harry paused, scenting danger, Quinley uttered startling words.